A Heart Cold as Ice, Hard as Skyrim
by Ocean's Timbre
Summary: Anja Wave-Walker has lost all she has ever known. Fresh from Helgen, she joins the Companions in Whiterun in hopes to discover the secrets behind the dragon attacks. With many secrets of her own, the Companions let Anja in as one of theirs. Little does she know, Anja's destiny will soon become larger than herself and the Companions, and Skyrim itself.
1. Chapter 1: All that Burns (Part 1)

_A/N: Hello all! This is my first venture into the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom, and I must say that I'm very excited! I've been playing Skyrim for a while now, as well as being a lurker in this fandom, so I think I'm ready to take the next step and put my ideas into stories. Anyway, the premise: female Dragonborn, fresh from Helgen, arrives in Whiterun and joins the Companions, while slowly discovering her destiny as Dragonborn. It follows the Companions questline and parts of the main. Now, I will let you know that I am a sporadic updater, so I don't know when you will next hear from me. Now that summer is drawing closer, I hope to update about every two weeks, but that's just a safe estimate. Who knows, I could update three times in one day! It has happened before! Anyway, enjoy, and please review! I'm open to constructive criticism! _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the _Elder Scrolls_ or _Skyrim_, or any of the places and character therein. Everything belongs to the mighty geniuses at Bethesda._

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_**A Heart Cold as Ice, Hard as Skyrim**_

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**Chapter 1: All that Burns (Part 1)**

Ice cold droplets of rain poured from the darkened sky, a harsh wind whipping them to and fro. Purple streaks of lightning tore violently through the dark gray clouds, illuminating the earth with an eerie glow. It had been a long time since Whiterun Hold had seen a storm such as this. Residents of the capitol were boarded up in their shops and homes and mead halls, staying warm and dry by the large fire pits. The surrounding farms and mills were braving the torrential storm, the farmers and their families ushering soaking animals into as much shelter as they could find. Even the occasionally violent giants were sobered, huddled under rock faces near their encampments, clutching their clubs tightly to their chests, keeping a watchful eye out for their beloved mammoths.

One such giant, a slightly smaller, gray skinned one, was knee deep in mud underneath a mossy outcropping near the main road to Whiterun. His fire had long since gone out, sometime towards the beginning of the storm. His bundles of cheese lay soaked and rancid. Knocking his club none too gently against his knee, the beast had nothing to do but wait out the storm and keep a tab on his mammoths grazing nearby. Suddenly, a particularly violent crack of lightning and boom of thunder rendered open the sky. Despite the downpour, the bolt of lightning managed to catch the brush surrounding the cobblestone road aflame. Shielding his mismatched eyes with a large and wrinkly hand against the sudden brightness, the giant glimpsed something between the flickering flames. The giant narrowed his eyes and leveled his club, ready to face whatever would threaten his mammoths.

Suddenly, the object the giant was so intent upon broke through the billowing smoke and flames to emerge back into the icy rain. It was a horse, the giant saw, with a human figure slumped against its bony back. With a human so close to his mammoths, the giant, who's brain was none too intelligent, contemplated attacking. But something stayed his hand. Lowering his still raised club, the giant soon forgot the animal and its rider, turning his attention back to his mammoths and trying to stay dry in the rain.

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The horse that was the giant's focus continued on its crazed journey, not knowing how close it had come to its own demise. The wind and rain whipped the beast's singed and smoking mane and tail, revealing a soaked and matted coat plastered to its exposed ribs. Normally, the horses of Skyrim were hardy animals, stout and well built for the harsh landscape. This horse, however, was skin and bones, suggesting an arduous journey. In fact, the horse ran like Sovngarde was on its heels. Open cuts oozed blood from the horses' side, as did half healed burns. The horse's hooves were split from riding hard against the cobblestone road.

Another boom of thunder and crack of lightning tore through the air. The horse whinnied roughly in alarm, breathing raggedly. It frothed from the mouth from fatigue and pain, the whites of its eyes showing fear. Running harder than ever, the horse's passenger seem oblivious to its plight. Wearing a worn and bloody blue cuirass, the rider was out cold. Shoulder length, white blond hair was plastered to her slender neck and face. Her pale skin seemed empty of blood and gaunt, her cheeks sallow. Her small frame was slumped against the horse's neck, her gauntleted hand clutching her abdomen, blood seeping between her fingers. A shallow cut stretched across one eyebrow while an ugly burn marred her right shoulder.

Unbeknownst to rider and horse, the large stone walls of Whiterun loomed not one hundred yards ahead. Standing at the large wooden gate were two guards, who despite the rain, had to remain on duty. Standing stoically in silence, both dutifully scanned the surrounding landscape for any approaching threat or poor traveler stuck in the rain. Both guards noticed the small fires a while back, and alerted a comrade to patrol the surrounding farms in case they caught aflame as well. Now, through the mixture of rain, lightning, smoke, and fire, one of the guards heard a slight _clacking_ sound; hooves against stone. Narrowing his eyes behind his helm, the guard glimpsed the outline of a horse and rider on the main road, galloping swiftly toward them. Motioning silently to his companion and nodding his head in the direction of the rider, both guards began to slowly open the heavy wooden gates.

Suddenly, the horse and rider were upon the guards, startling them. Their trained eyes, despite the storm, were able to take in the condition of the horse and its passenger. Alarmed, one guard tried in vain to grab the horse' saddle bags, his fingers just missing the speeding horse's tail.

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Vilkas ran through the streets of Whiterun, a small child on each hip. He and Farkas, along with others of the Companions, were helping residents get out of the rain and into safety. In place of his usual armor, Vilkas wore a cloak, homespun tunic and breeches, and supple leather boots. Either way, he was soaked to the bone. Quickening his pace, Vilkas sloshed through mud puddles until he reached the door of the Bannered Mare. Knocking three times, he set each shivering and wet child upon the door step. Warm and dry light reached them as Ysolda opened the door.

"That's the last of them!" Shouted Vilkas to Ysolda above the storm, his thick Nord burr rising above the howling of the wind. "Farkas is finishing up the Wind District!"

Ysolda nodded, her mouth open in reply, only to be interrupted by a loud _bang_. Whipping his head around, Vilkas saw the two guards at the gate running and shouting wildly, waving their hands, a crazed horse crashing through the half open gate in front of them.

"Quick, get inside!" whispered Vilkas roughly to the two children, gently shoving them in Ysolda's direction. Then, not even taking the time to put up the hood of his cloak, Vilkas ran across the market place in the direction of the distressed guards.

His booted feet slipping and sliding across the thick cobblestones, Vilkas arrived just in time to see the horse draw its last shuddering, ragged breath, spittle flying in every direction, and collapse with a wet thud on top of its rider.

"Get a priestess of Kynareth! Quickly!"

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_A/N: So, what did you think? I had this chapter all planned out, but had to split it up because it became so long! I should have the next chapter up fairly soon, but remember, I can't make any promises! But expect more dialogue and things to speed up a bit! I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and please review!_


	2. Chapter 2: All that Burns (Part 2)

_A/N: Hello again! Many thanks and much gratitude to those who reviewed! I wish that I had the time to respond to each and every one of you individually, but alas, time is not something that I have very much of. But I appreciate them none the less, and they keep me motivated! Anyway, now that summer is here (thank goodness!) I should be able to update more frequently, granted that I can work around my soccer and job schedule. So, with that being said, here's chapter two! Read and enjoy, and please review! _

_Disclaimer: All belongs to the mighty Bethesda except for my own characters. Those are my own creations._

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**Chapter Two: All that Burns (Part 2)**

_The sky was a massive, thick cloud of opaque black and red, swirling ominously. Fire and brimstone rained down from its open maws. Every time she inhaled a mix if hot ash and dry smoke invaded her lungs. She could hardly see five feet in front of her, let alone keep up with the Stormcloak beside her. The earth shuddered and tipped sideways, causing stone to crumble and burning wood to collapse. She was thrown a sunder by the quake, rubble and gravel imbedding and bloodying her cheek as she slammed into the ground. Her body already weak, her vision began to blur, barely glimpsing the tattered and burning flags of the Imperials, barely registering the bloodcurdling screams as people were burned alive, and barely feeling a gauntleted hand grip her shoulder roughly to haul her through the entry way of a collapsing tower. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the opening of the tower, high above, destruction reigning all around her. Suddenly, a massive spiky black head parted through the smoke, followed by a long, mace like tail and razor-like wings. A silent scream stuck in her throat at the sight, frozen in shock at the edge of the tower; the edge of life and death. Eyes red as blood and hot as coals and deep as flames, set deep into the scaly skull, bored into her soul. _Knowing_. The inky black jaws parted to reveal equally black, razor sharp teeth and a snake-like tongue. And then it _spoke_. The sound made her want to laugh with joy and weep with sorrow. Something within her _snapped_, or was awakened, clarity brought to her dulled senses. She felt it in her very _bones_, tasted it on the tip of her tongue. She _felt_. She _understood_. A hot wind whipped at her hair and clothing as the razor wings flapped passed, scorching her skin. At that moment, she jumped. _

The dream shifted

_The world was ending in fire and water. The world as she knew it, anyway. The ship was tossed to and fro by the choppy waves, the coast line just visible between the crests. Liquid fire rained down from the sky and from the hands of the attackers, causing smoking holes to appear in the ship's hull. Ice cold water began to seep through the toes of her boots as the ship descended ever so slowly downward into the depths of the sea. The water would either hamper or help her. Crouching behind a crate, she counted her breaths slowly. Bodies and yells and blood and chaos happened all around her. Then, she sprang, a war cry leaving her lips. Her prey was completely taken by surprise as her slender arm wrapped around his throat from behind, not even giving him time to scream. Then, cold metal pierced his back and he knew no more. She let his body slump to the floorboards of the ship, his blood staining the gradually mounting water a deep crimson. Her hands, blood soaked and shaking, but determined, tore the mask off the black clad figure to reveal a long regal yellow face with burning orange eyes and pointed ears. An _Altmer_. Her angry yell was stifled as a fireball exploded against the ship's mast. Wood splinters flew everywhere, one catching her across the arm as she hit the deck, leaving a deep and nasty cut. Suddenly, she felt soft hands grab her prone from and pull her back behind the crates. Twisting and leveling her steel dagger, a snarl on her face, she turned to face her attacker, only to drop her weapon, letting it clatter to the floor. A pale, heart shaped face looked back at her._

"_Anja, you need to abandon ship. Now!" whispered the woman, her large eyes showing worry and concern. _

"_No! Not without you and father! Where's Avon?" _

_The water was rising quickly now, reaching past her ankles. "I don't know," said the woman softly, a single tear falling down her face, grief stricken. "But take this," she said, handing her something clutched tightly in her hand. _

_She took it without looking at it. Their conversation seemed separate from the resounding chaos aboard ship, somehow. About to reply angrily, she was cut off as another fireball struck the ship with a loud _boom_ and _crack_. In the blink of an eye, the ship keeled sideways and tipped upwards. Both women cried out in surprise, quickly grabbing hold of the ship's rigging tightly. Dangling in mid air above a whirlpool of the dead and debris, she watched in silent horror as the older woman's grip slipped and she dropped into the ocean below, hair and clothes streaming behind her, a gentle smile on her face. _

"_NO!" she shouted, just as her piece of rigging, burnt by the fire blasts, snapped. She fell._

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Anja awoke to the sound of wind chimes. Slowly, she opened her eyes, the remnants of her dreams still dancing behind her lids. She glimpsed a high vaulted ceiling of a brightly lit room. Sitting up, she discovered she was lying on a hard slab of stone covered in a yellow linen sheet. At the center of the room was a beautiful mosaic of a dove in flight. Other men and women were asleep or coughing sickly on identical slabs as hers. Then, her eyes glimpsed a shrine at the back of the room. A statue sat there, purple and slightly triangular, a sapphire stone set into its head. She was in the temple of Kynareth, then.

Tossing the sheet aside, Anja stood up and groaned, immediately regretting the action. Doubling over, she shuffled towards a plate mounted on the wall behind her, checking her reflection. Her naturally very pale skin seemed even paler, if possible, and her cheeks and eyes seemed gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten or slept for days. Her ice blue eyes, her most striking feature, seemed duller than usual. Her rounded nose and full lips were intact, but one of her bushy yet pale eyebrows had a half healed cut slashing through it. She tenderly touched the large purple bruise that adorned the right side of her jaw.

Sighing, Anja looked down at the rest of her body. A plain, sackcloth robe adorned her, and it seemed as if she had been bathed. Loosening the robe, she hissed as she slid her right shoulder from the sleeve to reveal a tender, half healed burn. Upon further inspection, she discovered that her abdomen was heavily bandaged, a spot of bright red blood staining the linen. Resting her palm against the wound gently, she closed her eyes. Everything was coming back to her now: being captured by the Imperials while crossing the border of Cyrodil; laying her head on the bloody chopping block; the dragon's timely attack; escaping with Ralof and none other than Ulfric Stormcloak; not even staying the night in Riverwood, only to be ambushed by a rag tag group of Imperials on her way to Whiterun that had escaped Helgen as well. The memory of the dragon's attack was still fresh in her mind, if her dream was anything to go by. But its _voice_ is what still troubled her; haunted her, even. Anja shivered, the roar still echoing in her ears. Her second dream filled her with a profound sense of sadness. It had been a long while since she had dreamed that dream, relived that memory.

Discovering a leather strip in the pocket of her robe, Anja proceeded to tie half of her shoulder length, white-blond hair (a shade lighter than her skin) back, braiding the sides. The shorter fringe she left swept to either side of her broad forehead. With her hair partially tied back, she was able to fully see her teal blue swirl tattoo that adorned one side of her face and snaked down into the collar of her robe. She lightly traced the design with her finger, feeling more herself.

"Ah! Well look who's returned from the fringes of Sovengarde!"

Anja turned around from her place before the mounted plate to see a woman garbed in burnt orange and yellow robes. "Good to see you're on your feet!" continued the woman, not giving Anja time to reply, "You suffered quite the abdomen wound," she said, motioning to Anja's torso.

"Yes, well, an Imperial sword will do that to you," Anja said, smiling slightly.

The woman laughed. Oddly, it sounded very much like the chimes. "I'm Danica, by the way, head priestess of this temple."

"Anja Wave-Walker." Replied Anja, inclining her head in greeting.

"Well, Anja Wave-Walker, you gave Whiterun quite a fright. The local gossips will be talking about your entrance for weeks!"

Anja grimaced. That part of her journey was somewhat of a blur. She remembered being very wet from rain and weak from loss of blood. She vaguely remembered her beaten horse collapsing and pinning her down on the cobble stones of the Whiterun streets.

She took a seat on a nearby wooden bench. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," replied Danica, taking a seat next to her. "Your cuts we were able to heal on the spot, although we can't guarantee if there will be scaring or not. You're burns and stab wound, however, were another matter. Those will take some time. I recommend three hearty meals and much rest, as well as minimal movement."

Anja smiled to herself. She was never one to follow advice. Why were there rules if not to break them?

"I thank you for your kindness, but there is somewhere I must be. What of my things?"

Danica's kind face appraised her for a moment. "I am not one to judge other's lives and choices. That is the gods' place. But I will tell you now, as I see it is my place, for you to be careful."

Anja looked her full in the face, saying solemnly, "I will. My things?"

Danica just sighed and shook her head, smiling slightly as she motioned to another man clad in identical robes. He soon appeared by her side, handing Danica Anja's Stormcloak cuirass, fur boots and gauntlets, and iron sword.

"We cleaned and made what repairs we could to the armor." Said Danica, depositing the bundle in Anja's lap.

Anja donned the armor, her movements slightly stiff. There were still holes in the armor, and it smelled like blood and death, but at least it wasn't still wet or smoking. She knew she would have to buy new armor soon. She was no soldier.

"Again, I thank you for your kindness. One day, I will repay you."

Danica smiled kindly, walking with Anja towards the tall wooden doors. "It is no trouble, my child. It is only Kynareth's will." At that, Danica grabbed Anja's hand and closed her fingers around an amulet of Kynareth. "For safety."

Anja smiled at her. "Thank you. I will treasure it always."

As she turned to go, Anja stopped in the doorway. "One more thing, priestess. Which way to the Jarl? I have a message I must deliver."

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_A/N: So, what did you all think? I hope you enjoyed it! I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out! Sorry to leave it kind of cliffy! I hope to get chapter three up soon, and I promise, the pace will pick up! I know these first few chapters have gone kind of slow. Anyway, thanks for sticking with this and my crazy schedule! So please leave a review!_


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